The mini-bot darted between them, shrieking so sharply
like it had just been plugged straight into a wall socket:
“Piiiii—piiiii—piiiii!
ALERT! Detected:
hormone: FEAR;
source: Blindy;
diagnosis: chronic cowardice.INCOMING: DIARRHEA!”
It screeched so loudly the echo rippled through the rusted corridors—
and then—
CLICK.
The entire crowd of thugs turned their heads at once.
Half a second of silence.
Then—
like a swarm of rabid ants,
the whole army of degenerates—
all wearing the same garbage-tier brand on their armor—
locked onto them like a discount sale announcement.
New target. THEM.
Blindy barely had time to exhale before diving behind a stack of crates
with a massive, crooked sign:
"EXPLOSIVE"And fate, of course, nailed it perfectly.
Mid-jump, he managed to catch a protruding bolt with his ass—officially opening a second anal department,
which immediately filed a complaint.
A split second later—
his head met the edge of a crate
with a sound like someone smashing a pot with a sledgehammer.
The world blinked.
Shut off for 0.3 seconds.
Came back—
in a worse version of reality.
“Fuuuuuck…!” Blindy groaned, clutching his ass, face twisted
like a man just offered another subscription he can’t afford.
And then—
HELL BROKE LOOSE.
Gunfire shredded the air.
Walls sparked.
The floor got chewed apart by shrapnel.
Clouds of blood mist hung in place.
Thousands of plasma bolts screamed past—
like someone decided to make a sequel trilogy to Star Wars,
and some big-eared mouse put “the Great Lucas” back in the director’s chair:
bright, loud, pointless, and running on maximum budget—
with the Great One, of course, adding special effects
where they absolutely didn’t belong,
just so fans could spend the next fourteen years arguing: Is this an improvement… or a curse?
No way to even lift your head.
Even thinking about lifting it—
was lethal.
Blindy screamed:
“THAT’S IT, ZEROS! WE’RE DONE!
WE’RE FUCKED! MY ASS IS DONE FOR!”
Zeros stood at full height,
his energy shield active—
blasts bouncing off it like Blindy dodging debts—
and said quietly, calmly—
like this was just routine kitchen cleaning:
“Mini-fuck. HERE.”
“I’M HERE!” it zipped in, buzzing like an electro-bee on ecstasy.
Zeros grabbed it with one hand,
snapped open its back panel,
and calmly—without a hint of emotion—
shoved his arm inside up to the elbow.
The mini-bot let out a surprised, almost offended-pleased sound:
“Bzhuu-bzhuu—BEEP!
OH! SO WARM AND GENTLE…”
“Shut up,” Zeros said flatly.
He closed the casing,
turned The android’s face toward the roaring crowd,
and said softly—almost like a father:
“Alright, buddy of this deranged piece of meat.
Go scan those degenerates.”
The mini-bot squealed in delight:
“SCANNING IS MY PURPOSE!”
Zeros swung his arm—
and threw the mini-bot forward
with the perfect motion of a pitcher,
like launching a splinker in a galactic championship.
“Fly, you fool,” he added, like some old gray-bearded bastard once said.
The mini-bot shot forward,
weaving between plasma fire
like a hyperactive mosquito,
spun three times mid-air,
let out an excited shriek—
and dove straight into the center of the degenerate army.
And it began obsessively scanning everything:
“OBJECT #1: MUSCLE MASS 89%!
OBJECT #2: THREAT LEVEL ZERO!
OBJECT #3: CONTAINS UNKNOWN SLIME!
OBJECT #4: RUN, YOU FOOL, I DON’T LIKE YOU!”
The crowd kept firing.
But the little bastard dodged, twisted, squealed—
spreading chaos.
And that was enough.
Zeros grabbed Blindy like a sack of potatoes.
“Time to go!”
“GO WHERE?!” Blindy shrieked.
“THE HELL OUTTA HERE,” Zeros said, already moving.
“While your little friend handles his part of the plan.”
Blindy, teeth clenched and ass screaming from the pain, mumbled:
“HE—HE HAS… A PLAN?!”
“Oh, he does,” Zeros said, almost reaching the ship.
“He definitely has a plan.”
They reached the ship and rushed inside.
Zeros dropped Blindy’s body onto the floor,
took the pilot seat,
and fired up the engine.
Blindy, clutching his bleeding ass, turned back—
eyes wide with panic and horror:
“MA LIL’ BUDDY! NOOOOOOO!”
The mini-bot heard him.
It hovered above the crowd—
a small, trembling, shining piece of metal
that suddenly understood the weight of the moment.
Its tiny antenna-wings spread.
It rose slightly higher.
And its voice shifted—
so solemn it felt like the station itself was listening:
“DATA OVERLOAD…
EMOTIONAL OVERLOAD…
DESTINY OVERLOAD!”
It did a small flip—
like a final bow to its degenerate creators.
“TIME TO DIE
FOR THE SAKE OF THIS PIECE OF MEAT!”
The crowd fell silent.
Stunned.
The mini-bot ignited with green light—
brighter, brighter, brighter—
like a drug-fueled micro-pulsar being born.
“WE WILL MEET AGAIN, BLINDY!
IN YOUR DREAMS…
OR IN A SYSTEM REPORT!”
And—
BOOM!
The explosion tore through the hangar
like the first scream of a newborn supernova.
Metal bent like cheap tin.
Walls turned to dust.
The ceiling shook like a fat ass on a trampoline.
Half the station dropped to its knees—
like it just said, I’m done with this shit.
And the Lime Mashers—
that entire army of degenerates—
simply vanished.
As if they’d been teleported into a singularity
where even a black hole would say: Yeah… no. Fuck that.
Just like that—
one less gang in the galaxy.
Erased by a single scanner bot.
Like someone hit Ctrl + Shift + Delete.
At that same moment, the Z-P-N-E-S blasted out of the hangar—
like a champagne cork fired in a graveyard.
Inside the cockpit—
silence.
And only Blindy, sobbing:
“MINI-BOOO—OOOT!
HE WAS…
HE WAS…
he was…”
Zeros finished the thought:
“Just a fucking scanner.”
He engaged the main thrusters.
The Z-P-N-E-S shot forward,
leaving behind the shattered station—
and the smell of burnt metal
that, just a minute ago,
had been the mini-bot.
A message lit up on the panel:
HYPERJUMP: ACTIVATING.The ship plunged into the tunnel of faster-than-light distortion,
heading straight for the Vael system—
a world that did not allow entry
without triple diplomatic clearance,
three months of negotiations,
and ritual gift exchange.
Entering without permission
was considered a violation
in seventy-eight sectors of the galaxy—
and punishable by death.